Sunday, May 10, 2009


I had been grossly negligent about upgrading my eyeglasses having stupid priorities on my agenda instead.
Then one morning, while taking a bath, (the only waking moment that I don't have them on), I realized that there was a hugh difference between the vision from my left eye and the vision from the right one.
Worried for the worse, I sought medical assistance finally settling for an ophthalmologist on rue des Abbesses. His receptionist was a long time neighbor of mine so, my choice, wasn't completely out of the blue.
When I arrived at his office last Friday, there were three people already waiting to see him. The receptionist, my neighbor, had taken the day off to make the week-end longer and her week shorter. 
I had an image in my head of what a specialist looked like, so was surprised when a very cute, wiry young man, in Avery wrinkled shirt, emerged to call his next patient.
He  eyed me and announced that I was third in line. That was fine for me. It would give me time to run home and get my iron. His shirt definitely needed pressing. 
When my time came, he directed me into what I thought was his office,but, in fact, was a small elevator. I gasped when he enterd close behind me, then, laughed as we began to move slowly upward.
In his small office that looked down on the street was an enormous seeing eye machine.
He posed me in place then looked into the machine that looked into my eyes.  He told me that my pressure was fine and also announced that I had the beginning of cataracts, but, not to worry.
He then began to slide a great number of lenses in front of each eye. 
"Better or worse?" Over and over again. He made a notation, then told me that I should get new glasses. That I knew.  He also suggested that I wear them less.

"Really?" I replied.
"Your right eye has nearly corrected itself." he said as I handed him my carte securite sociale
"It's nearly perfect."
So, after twenty years of limited vision, I can see all around me. It's a wonderful sensation.
" Groovy." I thought crossing La Place Etoile at The Arc de Triophe.
Trees all around me.
More incredible is that I needed a specialist to see that I saw.

Drawings from unpublished storybook SPENCER TREETOP LEARNS TO DANCE

1 comment:

  1. Great writing Mary, and very well described creating the true ambiance which exists in your quartier.



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